


The Cop and the Doughnut Boy

by HolleringHawk65



Series: Batjokes Week 2015 [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Overall, Alternate Universe - Zombies, M/M, So he dies but comes back to life but I tagged the warning just to be on the safe side
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4563087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolleringHawk65/pseuds/HolleringHawk65
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day Five: "Endgame" or "Arkham Knight Inspired</p>
<p>“Inspired” is such a great word. It’s a verb that means “fill (someone) with the urge or ability to do or feel something, especially to do something creative.” So have this zombie AU ^.^</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cop and the Doughnut Boy

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t actually read Endgame or played Arkham Knight but I read the plots on Wikipedia and this is what came out of it. Enjoy :)  
> Also I'm posting this at one in the morning to just get it over with, let me know if there's any really bad errors  
> And I'll continue this if anyone really likes it! Just let me know in the comments ^.^

Everything in this world has an opposite. Water and Fire, Earth and Air; masculine and feminine; light and dark.

Life and Death.

But when the dead are living and the living can’t die, the world goes to whack.

_I_ go whacky (I mean, I was already wacky, already _insane_ , but now I was even more so).

They call me the Joker. Probably because everything is a joke to me. My boyfriend was turned into a zombie, but even in his after-life-life, he follows me around. His bite won’t kill me, and he’s still rather sentient (maybe because I injected him with a lot of formaldehyde and he hasn’t started rotting away yet, I don’t know) and it’s still _him_ , still my _Batsy_. Sometimes I see his hands twitch and his lips peel back, like he’s thinking about going in for the kill, but then he regains control of himself again. Sometimes I wish that he could kill me so that we could enjoy the eternal suffering of life after death together.

We rarely crossed paths with other people, which was fine by me. I just needed Batsy.

Once upon a time, he’d been a cop and I’d been a criminal. We’d been _that_ cliche couple, fucking in alley ways and low rent motels. It’d been luxurious.

Then I caught myself falling in freaking love with him. The kind of love that makes you change, and yeah, I changed for him. I went straight. Got a job at a doughnut shop that gave cops free doughnuts and coffee--he thought it was so _hilarious_ that he _smiled_. Then he was dead and I wasn’t.

My relationship with him had been a joke. Something that made me smile because we’d been on two different sides--Chaos and Order, meeting in a blissful grey area.

And now here was Life and Death, telling me to go fuck myself.

* * *

 

I sat in front of our campfire. It was really more for me than it was for him, but he still sat there next to me. I shivered a little bit as I leaned against him. He smelled like chemicals but underneath it all, I could still smell _Bruce_.

When I leaned forward to add another tree limb to the fire, I glanced back to look at Bruce. He was glassy eyed and his skin shined from the injections of formaldehyde… It pained me that he wasn’t himself anymore.

I scooted closer to him, running my hand down his cheek. “Do you remember when you asked me how we were going to end? How I said that I didn’t know? That it didn’t matter as long as we were together?” My voice was soft as my hand stilled, resting on a collarbone. “I think that I know now.”

Even with the fire, I was freezing. I hadn’t had anything to eat in days but I had had water, until it ran out yesterday.

I was so tired as I leaned forward, looping his arms around me. He couldn’t turn me but maybe he’d be able to feed off of me. One of us should make it. Maybe they’d come up with a cure and he’d be able to settle down with someone else.

”John,” he croaked out.

I started crying. He tried to talk, sometimes, and even the hoarsest of his voices made me ache for the past. When he used to lull me to sleep, crooning an old melody only he knew.

”I’m sorry, Bruce,” I managed in between tears. “I tried to stay with you.”

I couldn’t see anyway for us to get out of this together. My eyes closed against his chest, my only comfort in this world being that I would at least die next to him. It was better than nothing.

Everything stopped being a joke as reality came crashing down around me. I was dying, in the arms of my zombie boyfriend. I wouldn’t come back as a zombie--no, the best thing I could hope for is a ghost to watch over him, to guide him.

I don’t know how long we stayed like that. I was closing my eyes more often, could feel my heartbeat slowing down. “I love you,” I whispered again before kissing a cold, pale cheek.

Suddenly, the sound of a bullet ripped through the night, tearing through Bruce’s shoulder. I jerked back, a cry escaping my throat. Before I knew it, someone was wrapping their arms around me, tearing me away from _him_ , my love, my _life_ ,

”No!” I screamed at the top of ,y lungs, weakly hitting the back of my pseudo savior. “Kill me! Kill me too!”

”I can’t do that,” the person said.”‘I’m sorry for your loss, but it’s for the community.”

”Fuck your community! We would have left if-” he lost his voice mid sentence to his dry throat. It hurt to even sigh.

* * *

 

I didn’t want to carry on. All I wanted to do was find Bruce’s body and starve myself, but no one would let me leave. I had to be followed when I wanted to take a shower, but it was protected, And there was food. A lot of it.

I stayed because he would have wanted me to. Maybe.

One night, the door to my room opened. I sat up, eyebrow raised, before my jaw dropped. “Bruce?” My voice was barely above a squeak. “Is it really you?”

He came over to me and kissed me like our lives depended on it. Maybe they did. I wasn’t going to question it.

They call me the Joker because I’ll make a joke out of anything you give me but I’d never make a joke about of my love. I live in a world where the balance is disrupted; where the living can’t die and the dead are living.

And I’ve never been more grateful for the craziness of it until Bruce pulled away (because I just _knew_ that it was him) and smiled at me for the first time in months. “I love you, doughnut boy.”

He gave out a weak laugh as he hugged him. “I love you too, Batsy.”


End file.
